The 12 Days of Christmas
by KissofJudas
Summary: One story posted every day, starting on Christmas Day and going through the 12 days of the Christmas season! It's 5 years after Meteor fell...and this is where some people find themselves around that holiday season.
1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree: Reeve

_Out of every thousand snowflakes that fall, one might make it past the plate to fall into the slums._

That was what the weather service always said, back in Midgar. Here in Edge, some five years after Midgar had ceased to be, an ex-Shinra employee had to chuckle as he watched thousands and thousands of snowflakes cover everything, rich and poor alike.

_I wonder if they were better off with a plate above them._

The plate, in part, had been his idea – and it had never quite been put to use the way he'd wanted it to. Assistant to the head architect for the Department of City Planning or not, he hadn't been the head then. Things would have been different if he had been, that was for sure.

For one, he would have been in charge at City Planning at at eighteen.

But what was lost was lost, and what he had built in its place was more than sufficient. A city that ran on replenishing energy, and never once took from the Planet what it could not restore. Thoughts of expanding the WRO's influence outside of Edge and into the rest of the Planet. Looking into finding a way to healthily use Mako for the common good. It was a revolution, all backed by one of the men that had helped ruin it all. The world was changing.

But some things never change.

It was Christmas Eve, almost Christmas Day by now, and Reeve Tuesti's house was silent. The old homage "_not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse_" fit for all but himself – Cait was curled up in a corner, recharging for the night as it were. Strings of lights flickered in the arctic wind outside, blowing plumes of snow up into the air in a bizarre crystalline dance, and the commissioner watched from the warmth of his own home. A blaze crackled in the fireplace, sending reflections of yellows and golds onto the bulbs and tinsel that decorated his tree to mix with the colors of the lights already there.

The evening had been a quiet one for him; the company shut down early so that his employees might have time to go back and be with their families for dinner before either shuffling everyone off to bed or getting dressed and prepared for a midnight church service. Reeve hadn't done either, having lost his faith in invisible gods years before and not having anyone to shuffle off to bed but himself. But he'd stayed up to finish decorating the tree, and did a little last minute shopping for tomorrow's dinner at the only shop he could find that was still open.

He'd never admit it aloud, but seeing all the families made him just a little jealous. He'd been estranged from his parents since he was an early teenager, and had never really made the connection back to them before his mother had passed away after Meteorfall. Neither of them had made a large effort to breach the gap, and he had to own up to a small bit of guilt there. He should have done more. He should have gotten over the stupid childish anger that tore him apart and gone back to them.

But it was too late now.

Stepping away from the window, he looked around him at the house. It had only been recently that he'd started even decorating for the season – and he still couldn't come up with a good explanation of why. Green garlands adorned both the mantle and the bannister on his stairs, and all of the usual candles that dotted the shelves had been replaced with either Christmas-colored or Christmas-scented ones. A few ceramic Santas and glass angels were placed covertly around, all gifts from employees or well-meaning Secret Santas from back in the Shinra days. The style had been described as "the Grinch's second Christmas" by the girl who came into clean once a week – indicating that it looks like he was trying, but essentially failing. He didn't mind, and in the end, neither did she. She'd chalk it up to male inability to properly decorate, and he'd never comment otherwise.

Couldn't properly decorate? He could design a city but not put some tinsel around his house? Ah well. Whatever worked for her. And it wasn't really false, either.

He glanced out the window again, hearing distant strains of a carol being sung down the road. By now, Tseng would have gotten back to Wutai, Rude would be up on the Northern continent – wherever his family lived up there – wishing that snow was shippable, Elena would be fleeing to Costa del Sol, Reno...would be in his apartment, lighting candles. Rufus had long since come to terms with celebrating Christmas alone, and if he was holding up the promise he'd sworn to Reeve, he'd be taking a visit to a certain chapel back in the Sector 7 ruins. It was only himself that was standing alone, wishing he could be doing something more but having no ideas as to what exactly he'd want.

He sat back in his armchair, picking up a mug of tea from the table next to him and sipping it as he stared into the Christmas lights on the tree. It was Christmas Eve – or rather, as he heard the clock chime behind him, Christmas Day now – and he was alone in the house, save for the slumbering cybernetic cat.

One person to wish a Merry Christmas to, and half the time, he had to make him say it back to him.


	2. Two Turtledoves: Rufus

_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose..._

If a radio was playing, Christmas songs were pouring out of it. It seemed to be an unspoken rule of existence that no matter where you were, immediately following Thanksgiving – though extra points if you started before then – it became mandatory to devote at least 95% of all of the radio play time to Christmas songs, new and old.

How many different songs were there? It couldn't be that many. He'd heard this same one, sung by three different artists and instrumentally done at least twice, and he'd only had the radio on for about two hours.

This was the first time since the fall of Shinra and after that, the fall of Meteor, that he'd really missed being back home for Christmas. At least there they had a big fireplace, and he'd actually been able to roast chestnuts over it. His father didn't care so long as he didn't light the house on fire, and there was almost always a bodyguard around to make sure that he didn't light himself on fire either. But here in his new apartment, there was no fireplace. Plenty of Jack Frost coming in through the closed windows – even in high quality apartments, nothing was perfect – but no fireplace or chestnuts.

_Yuletide carols being sung by a choir and folks dressed up like Eskimos_

_Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright_

_Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight_

_They know that Santa's on his way, bringing lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh_

_And every mother's child is gonna spy to see if reindeer really know how to fly..._

Learning to cook a turkey was going to be interesting.

He knew how to do it in theory, and it wasn't even a large one because he basically only needed to feed himself, but even so. A year in a wheelchair and a few more with a cane left him finally walking unaided but not necessarily confidently, and he didn't know how to do it in the first place. Maybe if he called Rude up nicely he'd be willing to tell him. Or ask someone who did know.

But tonight was tree decorating night, a day he'd made an unofficial-Rufus-Shinra-holiday back when he was about eight, and it fell exactly one week before Christmas. It was no coincidence that around then was then his father decided that his job was more important than his son, and began leaving for extended chunks of time. He had been given two personal bodyguards at that point – one an older man that Rufus only knew as "sir" that guarded the door and barely ever spoke, and a boy who couldn't have been too much older than Rufus himself and spoke even less than the older man. It wasn't until the next year that he learned the boy's name – Rude. It had been the beginning of a long-standing friendship.

Rude, Rufus, and Sir had all taken to decorating the massive tree that sat in the Shinra mansion, with Rufus working the lower branches, Rude – being tall for his age even then – covering the middle, and Sir supposedly reluctantly getting the highest branches. And then, just like in all the pictures (farcical inventions that they were), Rufus would get lifted up by Sir to place the star on the top of the tree. The tree that went out on all the company Christmas cards? Pre-decorated and sitting in headquarters. The background was nothing more than a painting. All they ever did as a family was pose in front of it.

But even then, he'd never been able to sleep on Christmas Eve. The bodyguards knew where the presents were hidden. (He'd never believed in Santa; President Shinra had never bothered to even try.) And so in the morning all the presents would come out and he'd get to see what his parents were buying his happiness with this year.

Okay, so he wasn't quite that cynical back then, but looking back he was. Presents were presents to a child, reasoning behind them irrelevant. He cared more about the excitement of opening wrapped boxes that would contain things he didn't yet have.

_And so I'm offering this simple phrase to kids from one to ninety-two_

_Although it's been said many times many ways, Merry Christmas to you_

Slowly, carefully, one ornament at a time, Rufus wandered around his tree, placing each one somewhere he deemed perfect. Now he was tall enough to reach the top of his tree – of course, this tree was significantly shorter than the family ones – and it was almost a little sad. Each ornament had memories; he'd inherited everything they'd been able to salvage from the house between headquarters falling and Meteor. A star with a picture glued to the center of Rufus when he was five or so, a silver bassinet with his name and birth date engraved onto it, a beaded icicle an employee had given his mother for a gift exchange. A miniature carousel horse his father had bought from Palm Springs before Shinra had it burnt to the ground. Wooden ornaments his uncle carved. Two little ornaments – a drummer boy and a trumpet player – that his father had given his mother for their first Christmas. He remembered putting each one up, all on his own. He'd been so proud.

When you live on your own because your whole family's dead and your friends are all busy, it's not as exciting.

But, he had to smile. It was going to be his first Christmas on his own. And for once, he didn't mind being alone.


	3. Three French Hens: Vincent

The tradition was that you opened one present on Christmas Eve.

The last time he had opened a present on Christmas Eve had been...more years ago than he cared to count. It was before Meteor. Before Shinra fell. Before people became monsters and monsters lived inside people and love was lost for death.

He'd read her thesis, understood the nature of the beast within. He knew what the Protomateria did, how it kept him trapped on this cursed circle for eternity...and yet still trapped in a body that had known death all too keenly. He tried to make the most of it.

At least the claw was fairly adept as ripping wrapping paper.

Each year, he hadn't opened a present, but rather given a present. No amount of pleading or self-hatred from her had ever been able to turn his heart, and so enclosed in crystal or not he had come, each year, to give her a gift. In the past, they had exchanged gifts in secret. They were always little things, nothing of any value, and they had sworn to always keep it that way.

The gifts were easier to hide that way.

But this Christmas was going to be different. It was far too many years since he last touched her skin, too many years since he'd really been able to breathe, too many years since he'd kept common company. This Christmas would be different.

Gone was the tattered red cape he'd donned, gone was the matching scarlet headband. Gone were the golden attack boots, gone was the matching razor-sharp claw-gauntlet he'd taken to wearing as if it were his hand. No, this Christmas he found himself in a simple black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie. He wore his hair back, rather than cutting it; he'd grown fond of longer hair. And rather than his tri-barrel Cerberus, he carried a simple pistol on his hip.

This was the way she'd known him best.

The cavern was all too familiar to him, with the single coffin-sized crystal in the back and the rushing waterfall to the front. They had both slept in coffins for far too long.

"Lucrecia," he said softly. His voice was rough from lack of use; even on the times he met with Nanaki, few words were needed. "Merry Christmas."

There was no response. There had been no response for some time.

"Perhaps there are no words to be said between us anymore, and that is why I can no longer hear your voice. I would understand." He set the pistol aside. "I know I've come every Christmas, and I've left you a present each year. And yet here I stand this year, with no wrapped box in my hands to match those that still wait for you now. I haven't changed that much; I still come with a gift, as it were. But this...this is a different gift."

He cleared his throat, trying to remember all the words he'd thought of, trying to keep the foreign wetness from his eyes. "It's been so many years, my Lucrecia. So many years since we last saw eye to eye, stood cheek to cheek. So many years since we last exchanged presents. ...Perhaps too many years. I've been speaking to myself these last few Christmases, and I know that some might think me mad for it. But you...you were the one that I always clung to when my humanity threatened to leave me. So perhaps...it is talking to you that keeps me clinging still."

He took a few steps forward, trying to imagine her looking back at him with those brown eyes he had always loved. "But I need to find my own humanity again. So this Christmas I come to you with the truth as my present to you. I spoke falsely to you when we met those five years ago. Your son was not yet dead. Yes, the visions you had in your life were true, and those atrocities came to pass. It was in that year, that year that I visited you, that your son knew his first death – and I helped to bring him to it." He paused for a moment, letting the weight of that statement settle on himself. "Yes – I helped to kill your son. And when fragments of his being returned to traumatize the world again two years later, I helped to bring them down again. Perhaps...we are now even."

He coughed again, rubbing his face with a hand. "Our families are dead, Lucrecia. Your husband, my father, your son. I have been dead, and you wish to be...and I cannot cling to a life I never led any further. I love you, my Lucrecia, but I must let you go. You have chosen your path...and I must choose mine. And I choose to learn to live again. I...I am sorry."

Instinctively, his feet stepped a few paces back. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "Perhaps...perhaps in time, in the future, you will find yourself again. And until then, I will be waiting for you. As a friend, as a lover...as your Vincent. But I will not return to this cave again."

He picked up his pistol and laid it at her feet, and then pulled from his pocket a red band of cloth. "The man I was stays here with you always, as will the piece of my heart I gave to you all those years ago. But now I walk on without it."

"Goodbye, my Lucrecia. ...Merry Christmas."

The cold wind stung at the wetness on his cheeks.


	4. Four Calling Birds: Palm Springs

_This story takes place in the year 1987 – approximately twenty years before Meteorfall._

It was a quiet winter evening, December the 24th in a small town a few miles outside Midgar. Prayers and incense wafted up on the cold winter air toward the heaven and the God they directed their thoughts to this night. The collected congregation knelt before the altar, quietly murmuring a plea for reconciliation. One extra voice joined them, a lone man cleverly hidden in his black suit.

"Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against thee, by thought word and deed – by what we have done, and by what we have left undone." _Or what we are about to do,_ the suited man added to himself, glancing to the massive stained glass window above the altar. It was a picture of their saviour, arms extended welcomingly to anyone. _You don't wanna welcome me, mate. Not like you have a choice, though._

"We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as yourself. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent." The man in the suit crossed himself, a mockery of the action but a moment of true sincerity regardless as he checked to make sure that the one thing he needed to carry out his plan was still safely in place – which it was. _Forgive all of us for what we are about to do._

"For the sake of your son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us, that we may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your name – Amen." The priest, a nice enough looking man, gave a blessing to the people at large, and then gave the man his cue – though the poor man of the cloth had no idea.

"The peace of the Lord be always with you."

"And also with you," the man mumbled, standing and taking a step away from the pew he'd been sitting in. A glance back to the door and he saw that all was prepared. He made his way to the front of the church, gave the priest a smile and a handshake, and then waiting until no one was watching.

Turning to face the altar, he took the flare gun out from his waistband and pointed it directly up to the large drying-out wreath that hung in the center of the chancel. "_Requiescat en pace._"

The building was ablaze only moments later. The man in the suit was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit, we're too late." A sleek black car came skidding up to the city borders of Palm Springs, and smoke was already clearly visible on the horizon, blocking out whatever stars could be seen. Five bodies in black suits came scrambling out and immediately took off running.

"Adam, Anna, Seth – go check the perimeter. Catch any Shinra operative and drag them back to the car, dead or alive," the leader barked.

"Fucking shit, Jaren," the one left standing next to the leader hissed. "Sending Turks to clean up Shinra work?"

"Trust me, Tobias," the leader said, red hair flicking back and froth in front of his face in the breeze. "It's not on Shinra orders that we're here. Come on, we have to see if we can get anyone out of here."

The reaction to the Turks was almost immediate. One man, barely breathing from smoke inhalation, came and gave a valiant swing at the leader Jaren's chest. "What the hell are you lot doing here?" he choked out. "Did you start all of this?"

"Start it?" Jaren responded, confused. "How do you mean?"

"Shinra's the one killing the town – Shinra men in black suits, just like the lot of you."

Jaren's eyes just narrowed. "Shit, Jaren," Tobias murmured. "Using our own uniform against us."

"It means Heidegger knew," was Jaren's immediate response. He caught the man by the shoulder. "Quick, tell me – where did the fires start?" The man couldn't speak any longer, but he managed to point them in the direction of the church.

Tobias' eyes grew wide. "Jaren – that's the church Jack Sinclair works at." The two took off like a bolt, running for the church. The entire building was engulfed, and Jaren could only just barely make out the traces of piano wire stretched across the door. His chest felt cold despite the heat of the flames. They had trapped the entire town in the church, and then set it aflame. This was sick, even by Shinra standards. A woman lay at the doorway, desperately clinging to life. Jaren ran to her.

Meanwhile, Tobias had found the priest of the church laying on the ground several yards from the church proper. "Father Sinclair!" Toby fell to his knees next to the man, who was bleeding badly and holding a torn piece of the altar cloth over something. "Father, are you okay?"

The priest shook his head. "No...but am I blessed to see you, Tobias." Even through the pain, the man could manage a smile. "You must do me a favor."

"We have to get you out of here, Jack – we have to get you to a hospital." Toby was already tearing off pieces of his button-up to wrap around the man's cuts.

Jack just waved him off weakly, shaking his head. "You can't worry about me, Tobias. I'm not long for the world." Only then did Toby see the spreading bloodstain on the man's torso. He'd been stabbed – and badly. "I need you to do something for me; it's my dying wish that you do."

"Anything...anything." Toby's voice was soft; he'd never been a religion person, but Jack Sinclair was the one man that could make him believe – he'd been a bit of a father figure, though they were almost close enough in age to be siblings.

"Make sure he gets out of here safe." The priest moved a corner of the altar cloth to reveal the face of a young boy, red hair frighteningly similar to both Jack and Jaren's, no more that four or five years old.

Toby took a sharp breath in. "Your son..."

"I got him safely from the church. He was small enough to miss the piano wire, though I wish I could say the same for his mother." Tobias' eyes flickered to the door of the church, where he could see his superior kneeling. "You must get him safely from this town. I don't know what Shinra thinks we've done, but I can assure you that Nevi had nothing to do with it. Please, Tobias...for me."

"Of course," he said quickly, scooping the nearly-unconscious boy into his arms cloth and all, slipping his cycling goggles – a nearly constant piece of apparel for the Turk – over the boy's eyes to try and shield him from the smoke. "What's his name?"

"Nevada. Nevada Renaldi." The man winced. "Please, Tobias – don't let him be here when I pass. I...I want him to be spared that pain." Tobias just stood and nodded.

"Rest well, Father," he said softly to the man before him. "We'll see each other again."

"Death is but the next veil we pass through, Tobias," the priest responded with a smile. "We shall all be together again on the other side." As Tobias walked away, he could hear the man begin reading himself Last Rites, and he couldn't help the wave of nausea that hit him.

By the time he got to the car, the rest of the team was there, completely empty-handed. Jaren walked up, looking particularly unimpressed. "Nothing?"

"They're all dead or gone, boss," Anna responded. "Looks like a run-or-die to me."

Jaren closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to Toby. "And what is this?"

"Not what, you ninny. Who." He brought back the cloth again to show the boy's face. "It's Nevada Sinclair, the priest's son. We have to keep him safe."

"We can take him to an orphanage in Midgar." Jaren moved to get into the car, but stopped when he saw the look on his second's face. "What?"

"What do you mean, what? He's the same age as your son; why don't we just take him back to Midgar and keep him with us? You knew the Sinclairs almost as well as I did – we can't just leave their son to some second-rate orphanage!"

"Then we won't take him to a second-rate orphanage," the leader replied dryly. "Mary asked with her dying breath that her son be taken care of. Staying with the Turks is no way to be raised."

"Don't see you giving up your son anytime soon," Tobias grumbled.

Jaren's eyes flashed as they turned on his second. "My son was meant to live with his mother, if you'd remember, Tobias. Unfortunately, that particular plan did not quite come to pass, now did it?" Toby was silent. "He has one remaining parent – myself. Thus, he lives with me. Nevada has no parents and thus will go to the orphanage. If you insist, you may pick one to your own specifications and then I revoke any rights you would have to complain about it."

The fight lost already, Tobias just slipped into the far back of the car with the boy and stayed silent after directing Jaren to the best orphanage he knew of. _It had better be enough,_ Toby thought.

"Don't worry, Nevada," he said softly, brushing the boy's hair out of his face. "No matter what, I'll always keep an eye on you. I'll find a way to live up to the promise I gave your father. I have to." He snugged the goggles down on the boy and prayed to a god he'd never really believed in to keep the poor boy safe.


	5. Five Golden Rings: Tseng

It was getting harder and harder to find the damn place as time went on.

Shinra, in true hypocritical fashion, had built what was essentially a mausoleum for the Turks, a fact that Tseng had never quite understood given that with the number of Turks that were killed each year, they'd be better off with a graveyard – or an unmarked pit. That fit best the way they actually treated the Turks. Pay them enough money to keep them quiet and then make their lives living hell.

Or more commonly, not living. Hence the mausoleum.

But it had built outside Midgar, and ruins be damned if Tseng wasn't going to find his way there this Christmas season. He had every other Christmas and threats of a snowstorm was not going to keep the former Turk leader from going.

Numbers kept flickering in his mind. Five, five years since Meteor fell. Twenty, twenty years since his father had died. Twenty-five since that music had played. He hadn't been there to hear it that night, but that was fine. His father had told him more than he'd ever wanted to know.

And what his father hadn't told him, Toby had.

He made his way up the mausoleum steps slowly, remembering Toby separately since he wasn't buried here. Tobias Sloane, his father's second-in-command. The closest thing Tseng had ever had to a brother, and most days a father as well. His actual father wasn't exactly the showy type when it came to emotions, so the moments that he showed them were few and far between – and all the more special.

Christmas Eve, twenty-five years ago, was one of those days. It was one of the few memories from that long ago that stuck with Tseng even now.

Late after the team had gotten home, Tseng had awoken to hear an odd sound coming from his father's bedroom. Cautiously he crept in, to see his father sitting on his bed, tears quietly streaming down his face. This was unheard of; his father never cried. So Tseng, the ever cautious son, crawled up next to him and asked him what was wrong. The then Turk commander tried to explain to his son: _your father went on a very difficult mission today. Why was it so difficult? Well, because he didn't want to go on this mission, son. This was a foolish mission that the company should have stopped before it happened. No, I don't know why they didn't stop it, Tseng. But here's something for you to remember when you're a Turk yourself – sometimes you're going to have missions, and they're not going to make sense. You're going to think they're stupid, and you're going to want to say no. But you can't say no to them, Tseng. You have to do your job, because if you don't... You don't want to know what happens if you don't._

But Tseng learned all too soon what happened when you said no – or sometimes, when you said yes.

The stone sarcophagus was beautiful, intricate inscriptions laid into the marble. _Jaren Reynolds, devoted captain, faithful friends, loving father. Rest in peace._ Tseng traced a finger over the date of his death – only five years after that conversation of Palm Springs burning to the ground. Tseng had been ten years old.

It was the on-going joke in the company that Tseng was born into Shinra and that was why he never quite left. He'd never argued it, not even then. Because it was all too true.

"I can't believe this place survived," he said softly, running his hand down the stone. Each and every time he had been in here it had been impeccably pristine, almost frighteningly so. This time was no different – and he had to wonder who took care of a place that so many others had forgotten about. "But then again, if you're here, Father, I suppose you wouldn't let something as insignificant as Meteor bring you down."

There was just a hint of sarcastic humor in that. _Something as insignificant._ But he knew that's exactly how his father would have dealt with it. Jaren would have had a plan to take out Sephiroth, take down AVALANCHE, take out Meteor all in one fell swoop, and he never would have broken a sweat. And if Jaren had fallen victim to Masamune as Tseng had...Toby would have stepped up and Jaren would have woken up to the world saved and Toby wondering when he'd be able to go get pizza.

"Do you think I did well?" It was a question he'd asked his father's grave every year, and each year he somehow hoped he'd get an answer. Perhaps he was simply the personification of insanity, but it made him feel better.

"What would you have done in my situation, Father?" Tseng sat at the edge of the coffin. "You braved the fires of Palm Springs, you and Toby saved the only survivor of the town...you faced down anything you could and you came out alive, and the only time someone brought you down was when it was hundreds to six. Would you have done any different?"

He sat in silence, for a moment, but he knew already what his father would have told him, were he still alive today. _I would have done my best, Tseng. Just as you have done._

"Merry Christmas, Father." He stood and looked around to the other members of his team buried at his sides. "Merry Christmas, Adam, Anna...Martin, Josh. I'll send Toby your best." And trying to pretend he didn't feel tears stinging his eyes, he walked back out into the weather.

* * *

Thank you everyone that's been reading - and for my three reviewers Servant of SHEVAL, chibipinkbunny, and Cryingravens13. Please, please, please review; I thrive and survive on them and need them to breathe. :)


	6. Six Geese a Laying: Reno

It seemed odd, doing the ritual again after all these years, but that's what a ritual was for, wasn't it? To keep a memory alive even far past the time that it had happened.

Slowly, Reno set out the small white votives around his keyboard. The keyboard had been a present from Shinra back when it was still around, for some Christmas after they realized that he could play and consequently they didn't have to pay for entertainment anymore. The candles...those he had bought himself.

Just as slowly as he had set them out, he lit them all, and then began softly playing Christmas carols, singing along under his breath.

It had been quite the occasion the first time Tseng had found out what his second-in-command locked himself in his room to do every Christmas Eve. First it was _"you play the piano?_" then "_wait, is that you singing?_" then "_I thought you hated Christmas._" That was the clincher. Yes, Tseng. Your second does hate Christmas. But have you ever asked him why?

He didn't remember anything too clearly, except for the fire and smoke, and seeing his mother get caught on wires as she tried to hurry them from the church. Then it had just been black...with carols in the background – until he got to the orphanage. All he'd ever had to remember how he'd survived were a pair of motorcycle goggles that were around his head when he'd really woken up. He'd barely taken them off since.

But it hadn't made the memory of that day any better – and it just got worse each year. When the plate went up in Midgar, the areas below grew corrupt and down-trodden, and his orphanage was in one of the worst. At all too young of an age, they pawned him off for a nice chuck of Gil to a man that was working a few Sectors over who said he could give the boy a job. The orphanage was eager to get rid of him, and Reno – though he didn't go by that name yet – was all too willing to work for his keep.

If he'd known who Don Corneo was back then, he probably would have changed his mind.

Nevada reigned supreme in Wall Market as the boy grew up, learning to please Corneo if he wanted the shelter he'd been promised. The on-again, off-again information gatherer for Shinra was all too happy to have a young, attractive man to flaunt about (since he was rapidly gaining weight and couldn't do the job himself) but when the boss comes to call, you have no choice but to give in. Reno had accidentally taken out an undercover Turk one night in the market, and Shinra liked the idea of a fighter like him. By age 16, he was fighting with the Turks – and he took on the name Reno, a shortening of his middle name (which he'd never much cared for in the first place). Nevada was dead.

But every year, every Christmas Eve, he remembered the boy from the fire. He remembered all those people from the fire. And as the candles continued to burn down, he played a haunting version of Silent Night – the carol a group was singing right outside the orphanage as he woke up.

When the song finished, he blew out all but one of the candles – and as usual, the two closest to the one he left lit seemed to argue getting blown out. He watched the flame flicker in the one candle left and pulled a face.

"Nevada Rinaldi. What a terrible name."

He stepped away, letting the candle burn down on its own, and walked to a window, looking out toward Midgar and Edge. He lived in Junon now, the town he'd always said he was from, but he could still pretend that he could see the lights from Shinra headquarters. Sure, the lights he saw were probably light pollution from Edge, but he could pretend.

"So what about you, Tobias Sloane?" he said to himself, taking off the goggles and looking at the hand-engraved _TS_ on the side. From the initials and a letter that found its way to him several years after it was meant to, Reno had found out who his saviour was. Tobias Sloane, second-in-command in one of the first and best teams of Turks Shinra had ever known. The letter Toby had written to Reno was short and simple – an apology that he hadn't taken the boy in himself, and explaining why he couldn't. At that time, all the Turks lived together in an off-site apartment complex owned by the company, and therefore to take in the boy he would have had to have his commanding officer's approval.

Even without Toby's explanation, Reno knew that wouldn't fly. Jaren Reynolds had a reputation for being a huge stick-in-the-mud about damn near everything.

But Toby's apology was sincere, and hoped that wherever the letter found him, he hoped that the little Sinclair boy he'd saved was happy and safe.

Two things Reno had never really been.

He turned around and saw his candle – the candle of the sole survivor of Palm Springs – still burning. Disgusted, he blew it out. "Working for the company that killed my parents. Some sick masochistic bastard I am."

But he still heard the carousel's organ in his dream, playing out the song it sang as it burned.

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Thank you to my reviewers again - I appreciate every single one of you!

It has been pointed out to me, however, that the events of Palm Springs can be a little confusing. I'm sorry! The short version is: Jaren, Toby, and the rest of that team, are creations of my own mind and are not actually canon characters. I hope that they become a little clearer as time goes on - through Tseng's chapter, through Reno's chapter here, and then through the next chapter as well. I hope that if you have any questions, you do not hesitate to ask - I would be more than happy to explain anything.

And again - thank you all for reading, and hopefully reviewing!

~R


	7. Seven Swans a Swimming: Toby

The rule had always been that once you were a Turk, you were always a Turk. There was no leaving the team. If you left, you usually had about 48 hours before one of Shinra's elite assassins – the ones no one spoke of – came after you to take you out.

Unless you were particularly good at hiding.

Mike Reynolds had been living around the shipping docks all his life, if you listened to his story. His mother was handicapped and never left the house – she lived up by Da Chao, in one of the pagodas near the temple. He had to work at the docks to provide for the two of them, since she couldn't. No one really asked, since Mike...well, he wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. The fewer questions you asked him, usually the better.

Toby always had been the best of them for imitating other people.

Christmas in Wutai always made him think of the days before they'd all split up. Days like when they first joined Shinra, and helped to start the Turks, days when they travelled to Wutai for the first time and Jaren met Kana, the day Tseng was born...the day Kana died.

Happier days.

Days back at the Turk apartment, celebrating birthdays and Christmas and New Year's...

All good things, hm?

Once you were in the Turks, you weren't getting back out. As as time went on, in-office politics got stronger and Heidegger got jealous of Jaren's skills and ambition. The missions got harder, and it became more and more evident that one of these days they were going to go on a mission that they didn't come back from. When Toby and the rest of the team had come home one day to find Tseng in hysterics because his father had left on a mission on his own, and before he'd left he'd given the child sentiments of emotion that Jaren never said to anyone – they knew. This was the mission.

And yet he still promised the boy they'd come home.

In the end, he'd tried his best to live up to his promise. Yes, the mission was clearly intended to kill off the Turks. Bodies were found, burnt beyond recognition but with small items on their person to indicate who they were – Jaren's EMR, Toby's goggles, that sort of thing. But what had really happened was they had run – each in a different direction, with the final order hovering over their heads to never come after each other. Two Turks in one place were too easy for Shinra to find.

But what happened when Shinra falls?

Toby had still never gone after any of his teammates. He didn't know where to begin. Orders be damned, he knew Adam and Anna would have stayed together. With any luck at all, they were out there living the happy life they'd always dreamed of: white picket fence, 2.5 kids, the whole shebang. After all, with the old Mako treatments that all of the fighters who would become SOLDIER and the Turks got back then, they literally weren't getting any older. Josh and Martin could almost be anywhere, and especially during times like this one Toby regretted not being closer to either of them. It was amazing how close a team could be and still not really have each of its members be the same.

And then there was Jaren.

If Jaren was anywhere, he was here in Wutai with Toby. The second-in-command would be the firs to admit it; it was one of the reasons he'd chose to run here. But if Jaren was around, he'd done a fine job of hiding himself because not even Toby had seen him around.

But damn it, if he was, he knew Toby was here. He'd never been able to hide from Jaren.

It was ironic, really. He'd been keeping tabs on Tseng ever since the team had been forced into hiding, so he'd seen the boy rise through the ranks with all the swiftness he'd expected of Jaren's father. The Sinclair boy had effectively vanished from his radar when he left the orphanage (the people there having refused to tell Toby who had taken the boy), but when all of a sudden a boy wearing a very familiar pair of goggles showed up under Veld in the Turks, he immediately saw the familial resemblance. It pleased Toby an irrational amount to see the two finally together. He'd hoped they could grow up together. Now maybe they could grow old that way.

_I wonder what happened to them after the company collapsed._ Of course, he'd heard about the resurfacing of the Shinra boy, and the Turks had turned into bodyguards essentially, and then read in the newspaper about their work fighting off the Sephiroth remnants. _There's a fight I'm not sorry I wasn't in the Turks for._ But after that...he hadn't heard much. It had been almost three years.

Like so much else, it would probably turn into one of those unsolved mysteries that his life seemed to be full of.

"One of these days, I'll come and find you, you know?" Toby whispered to himself. "The company's gone; they can't do anything to us. So one of these days I'll be the one to break that last order and come and find you. We're all still around, and all still friends. It's stupid living our lives apart. Not when we're running out of life to live.

"So Merry Christmas, boss – wherever you are. And a Happy New Year."

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Thank you again to my reviewers; you allow me to continue breathing. :)

Happy New Year to everyone - I hope this chapter helps to clear up a bit more of what happened back in the Palm Springs chapter. Again, if you have more questions, go ahead and write me a note or say so in the review. I want you to understand! Really I do! Hope you enjoy this chapter~


	8. Eight Maids a Milking: Cloud

He hated the holidays.

Not the celebration, not the happiness it brought people, not the exchanging of presents, none of the usual things. And he hadn't always hated them. But now, holidays – any holiday, but especially Christmas – just reminded him of days he'd rather put behind him.

From about Halloween to New Year's, it was a time of remembering. And the man they all called the Saviour of the Planet had been told all too many times that he spent too much of his time remembering.

Tifa had been hoping that defeating the remnants of Sephiroth would help Cloud finally move on. It did – as did finally having that little piece of closure with Aerith that he could never really talk to anyone about. But for almost two years after the remnants and the entire fiasco was history, everyone knew there was still something a little bit wrong with Cloud. No one could put their finger on it, not even the young man himself.

So he'd packed up and left, with the promise that he'd come back some day – and that if Tifa called and she needed him, he'd be there as soon as he could. That promise would never fade away.

It had almost been a year, but as he watched video of snowstorms roll in from Edge on the weather report, he knew exactly where he needed to be this Christmas. He'd hopped on his bike and caught a ferry across to the western continent, and gone home.

Both of them.

Because that was really the problem. It had really sunk in when he was standing in Nibelheim, just wandering around and remembering times gone by. Back when they used to decorate the well with lights for Christmas – the one time they'd tried to emulate the New Year's ball drop in Midgar with a pole, some fishing line, and a half-broken disco ball – trick-or-treating at the Inn and getting some of the best treats imaginable (second only to the treats from the bar). There were so many wonderful memories, but he knew something was still missing, Even going back through everywhere he could find – looking at Tifa's old house, walking through his old house, going as far up to Mt. Nibel and the old reactor as he could – no amount of reliving could really fill the void he felt. So he did what he always did when he couldn't clear his mind.

He got on his bike and drove, until he hit something he needed or the water.

And as soon as he came around a corner and saw a wasted Mako reactor come into view, he knew exactly where he was and why he was here. Because there was only one other wrecked Mako reactor that he could think of that would mean anything to him.

Walking around Gongaga was an odd feeling. On the one hand, he felt like he should know where everything was, because this was where Zack grew up. And it was about at that point that he came to terms with the other half of that equation. There was no real reason why he should know anything about Gongaga, in the town or around it. He never visited Gongaga with Zack, as far as he could remember. They were their briefly when they were searching for Sephiroth, and he'd spent some time re-remembering things about Zack that he'd only partly known.

But this was a piece of him...that had never really been a piece of him.

It was like that day on the Highwind all over again, after the Mako poisoning and the odd half-remembered dream in his mind with Tifa. Like learning about his past all over again. Finding out that half of what he'd remembered about his life hadn't actually been his life was one of the most confusing and uncomfortable feelings he'd ever had.

Some days it felt like it'd never left.

But getting a chance to walk around his – _his_ – hometown, and then see himself around Gongaga at night...it helped. He could finally put those memories where they belonged: at rest, at home.

"You were an amazing friend, Zack," Cloud said softly to the night air. "I promised you I'd live for both of us – but I don't think either of us wanted me to live _as_ you. And I'm not going to anymore. I'm not living in memories anymore. Not in memories of you, not in memories of Aerith, not in memories of Sephiroth. I'm going to live for myself – and I'm sorry for both of you that it's taken me this long to come to that. But...that's why you came. That's why I saw you both in the chapel that day."

He nodded a bit to himself, sitting back on the bike and setting his sunglasses in his pocket. "That's why. I'm not alone...but I need to be alone in my head for once. Then, everything will be alright." He gave a small smile up to the stars. "Then, you'll be right."

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Shortest chapter yet - sorry! I didn't want to draw it out and give it more just to make it meet length. Man, I don't write Cloud well at all. Sorry everyone.

So I hope you're all reading and enjoying - please review! My little muses that eat reviews are starving to death (and no one wants dead muses in their head). But regardless - I'll try to do better next chapter! Promise!

~R


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing: Cid

Christmas fucking Day and the power was out. How the hell was anyone supposed to be festive when you've got one glowing reddish light as your celebration?

The pilot was not in the least bit happy. He had spent a completely irrational amount of time decorating his house – half because the town had requested that he not look quite so much like a stick in the mud around the holiday season, and half because Shera had said the house would look nicer if it looked like someone cared about it – and now no one was going to see all his hard work because the power had gone out all over all of Rocket Town.

If this wasn't something to bring up with WRO headquarters and the mastermind of that stupid fortune-telling cat, he didn't know what the hell was.

Instead, he checked to make sure that Shera's package had been shipped out the day before (it had) and then looked to see if there was a newspaper available (there wasn't – it was Christmas). Cursing, he lit another cigarette and starting doing his usual laps around the town.

It seemed hard to believe that it had already been five years – almost exactly five years, really – since he'd met those stupid numskulls that dragged him along on what would become the best time of his life. For a long time, he'd assumed that whatever he'd gotten at Shinra was going to be all he really earned. He'd gotten to build his rocket, built a town around it, and almost taken it into space. Oh, what a day that had been. The day the Space Program was finally going to see the stars that they'd so desperately reached for since the moment it started.

Well, maybe just Cid reached that far, but nonetheless. He'd reached.

And then he'd had his glory stolen away. The pain had long since faded – helped in so many ways from not only finding out that Shera had been right and he would have exploded had the launch back then, and by actually getting into space with the help of Cloud and the crew – but still the memories remained. Sometimes he wished he had a few new ones to overwrite the old ones with.

His life, as he led it now, was completely incomprehensible to the other members of what was then AVALANCHE. He lived alone, in Rocket Town, doing repairs on machinery both in town and on call for emergencies. So while officially he was a mechanic, he'd also turned into a bit of a drunk-kids-on-holiday pick up service. Which he didn't mind, really. If you wanted to go out and have fun, get a little – or a lot – smashed, that was wonderful. Just don't go flying through his air while you do it. Needless to say, the Shera had seen more than her fair share of puke buckets.

The namesake for the airship had not. This was really the point that seemed to stick for Cloud – though the captain didn't know why; Cloud did his fair share of being alone by his own choice. Shera had stuck around for about two and a half years after Meteorfall before deciding that the time had come to move on. She and Cid had formed a much better relationship, and while it had never really become serious, they had casually flirted for the last year of her stay. They were still friends, and they kept in touch regularly. She lived in Junon now, and was helping the WRO to rebuild the city after the Sister Ray had finally beed completely taken out of the skyline. It was a good place for her, and Cid could tell even from here that her skills were improving by leaps and bounds.

Cloud had somehow convinced himself that Shera and Cid were going to get married and have about six children by now.

He wasn't going to fool anyone if he said that he didn't think (after he got over the irrational hatred) that Shera was an attractive woman. On the contrary, he'd told her many a time that she was attractive – and she'd extended the same compliment to him. But the fact that two people got along in a vaguely romantic way didn't mean that there was a white picket fence in store for them. She wanted to get out into the world and become a better mechanic, and he was too much of an old fogey at heart to really try to find himself again. He was an airship pilot getting older by the minute and he'd really reached the last frontier he'd been aiming for.

So now he'd repair ships and cars and planes and trains...and try to let other people reach their dreams.

Part of him wanted to call Tuesti right now and give him a piece of his mind about this power outage. Sure, the electric wasn't as constant and untouchable as it had been back when the world ran on Mako, but this was the third time this month it'd passed out on Rocket Town.

He flipped open his phone and let it ring.

"_Hi, you've reached the voicemail for WRO commissioner Reeve Tuesti. I'm not available at the moment, but if you'd leave your name, a number you can be reached at, and a short message detailing the reason of your call, and I'll get back to you as soon as I possibly can. Thank you – and I hope to speak to you soon."_

"Hey Tuesti – it's Highwind. …...Let's talk after the holiday, can we? The power's a little sketchy out here and I wanna see if it's anything I can fix. Hope you're enjoying the day off – cause if you don't have the day off on Christmas in your own damn company I'm getting in my airship and flying to Edge right now and kidnapping you. Heh...happy holidays, Commissioner."

_Click._

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Thank you to servant of SHEVAL for reviewing the last chapter - every review on every chapter is very much appreciated!

This one's a little longer to make up for Cloud's last time - though this one is going up a little late. Sorry! Hope everyone enjoys - and no matter if you do or don't, I hope you review! Because otherwise, how will I know if anyone likes it? :(

~R


	10. Ten Lords a Leaping: Marlene

The difference between boys and girls was best shown in how they shopped for the holidays.

Boys, like Cloud and Denzel and the others she knew, weren't worried about time and getting good prices or anything. Girls, like herself – they were the ones that went out ahead of time and didn't have to feel rushed when the actual holiday came.

So the streets were fairly empty when she was walking around.

Her father – though she knew better than that now, and more often than not used his first name – kept saying how hard it was to believe that it had really been five years since the catastrophe. She assumed that everyone was saying this, really – at least all the adults. She could believe it.

She was thirteen now – and though most children forgot what happened to them when they were younger, Marlene couldn't. It didn't matter that she'd only been eight or so when it happened. She remembered all of it, or at least all of it that she'd been allowed to see.

One of the most memorable, and the one she was remembering most this holiday season, was the one that she could never really share with anyone else, and the one memory that a lot of the adults in her life seemed to forget, because they hadn't been with her.

It was the memory of when Aerith had been taken away by the Turks.

What most people didn't know – because she'd never said anything about it – was that she'd been on that helicopter briefly. Aerith had been taken by the dark-haired one (Tseng, she'd later learned), and trying to protect the sweet flower girl, she'd taken off with her. They'd been in the air at least ten minutes before the tall one (Rude, which she always thought was an unfortunate name for the man) asked if they'd wanted both of the girls. Tseng had shouted, the redhead flying (Reno, who had amused her even before he'd spoken to her) had taken a quick dive and almost crashed into the building, and it was only Rude holding onto her jacket that she'd stayed in the chopper. Aerith made all the noises of being mortified that Marlene was there and pleaded with Tseng to take her back to Elmyra, but Marlene knew. Aerith was proud of her – proud of her ambition and her drive. But they'd taken her back anyway, and Reno had actually apologized for flying off with her.

But what she'd really noticed what that during the entire "adventure", they'd never once been cruel. They'd never been mean, never hit either of them, never really had to use much force. Aerith argued, Tseng bantered back, and then with Aerith tried to run Tseng caught her and put her in the helicopter. Frightening, yes – but not to the extent she'd expected from Turks.

Barret had never understood why she wasn't really afraid of the Turks when they saw them again after Meteor. She was just happy that they'd survived along with everyone else – and was even happier when she saw that they were taking the second chance they got.

So this year, she was buying a very special set of Christmas presents. All the usual people were getting them – Barret and Cloud and Tifa and Denzel and the rest of the crew from AVALANCHE – but she needed four special ones.

She'd never met Elena for very long, but she'd heard about her from the team. And Tseng, Reno, and Rude she knew. She assumed they were still alive and around; there was no real reason for them not to be. And so she had to find a perfect present for each of them.

Rude was the easiest to pick out; she'd seen the perfect gift as soon as she stepped onto the high street in Edge. It was a pair of sunglasses – of course – but the lenses were a deep blue reflective surface that you couldn't see through. It reminded her of the color of their suits.

Elena had been difficult, but not as hard as Marlene had been afraid. From what she knew of Elena, she was a younger Turk, blonde, energetic, and a bit of a loudmouth. A little further investigation showed that her family was from Costa del Sol. Thus, the perfect gift was found: a sundress in bright summery colors with a matching parasol. Marlene wouldn't have minded getting it herself; she figured Elena might not quite have the taste of a thirteen-year-old girl, but it was mature enough so that it didn't look like a child had dressed her.

Reno was the difficult one, much to her surprise. Though she liked him, and thought he was funny, she didn't know what to get for him. She didn't know him that well. After wandering around each store time and time again, she finally settled on something small she'd seen back when she first got in: a shirt with a winking Chocobo on the front, that read "Wark my $$" on the back. It had taken a few unsuccessful interrogations of the men in her life and a bout of research before she'd figured out why Cid had snickered over the shirt so much – and since most of the jokes she heard Reno tell were...of that nature, she figured it fit.

Tseng was the easiest, and she actually hadn't needed to buy it. She hoped the small package didn't throw him off, but it was the only present she could think of. While his old teammates would be opening boxes, Tseng would get an envelope with a piece of paper and a length of pink ribbon, and on the paper would be a short note.

_Dear Tseng,_

_I think you deserve to have one of these too. She always seemed to like you._

_~ Marlene_

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Sorry so late again! Got caught up doing other things and lost track of time~

Thank you for reading and reviewing - just a few more days!

~R


	11. Eleven Pipers Piping: Corneo

There had been a TV playing in a storefront window, back when he was a child, and he remembered listening to the lyrics and thinking "well that will never ever happen to me."

Now he couldn't get the lyrics out of his head.

_What do you do with a general when he stops being a general? Oh, what can you do with a general who retires? Who's got a job for a general when he stops being a general? They all get a job but a general, no one hires._

Sure, he wasn't a general – he'd never been in the Shinra army – but it seemed like the same thing after all this time. The vast majority of Meteorfall he'd had to watch from a hospital room, and that was only after the doctors had pulled him out of the coma. He had seen the city he used to live in be destroyed though – and had to start completely from scratch when he was finally released almost two years later. The doctors kept telling him that he was lucky that he'd had the fall in Wutai rather than in Midgar. He probably never would have woken up otherwise.

_Nobody thinks of assigning him when they stop wining and dining him – it seems this country has never enjoyed so many one and two and three and four star generals unemployed._

Coming back into the world felt very much like a rebirth in many ways – so many people simply didn't know who he was. He'd never had too much of a name in Wutai, and the city he'd reigned over (or at least the slums of which) was no more. The life of luxury he'd known was over.

And he'd lost a hell of a lot of weight.

He'd tried, briefly, to contact Reno. Reno was one of the few people that would remember him, would still know him as the Don of the slums, the indisputable leader of the sectors. Unfortunately, the time they'd shared wasn't exactly the highlight of Reno's life and thus he'd refrained to reconnect. And to be fair, Corneo couldn't blame him. A year and a half was a long time to think about the past and the future – and his past hadn't exactly been the best.

So he began again. With the new look – honestly, he hadn't been this thin since he was a teenager – and the new outlook on the world, he was trying to build up something more for himself. The only problem was, he didn't really know anything else to do, but be an undercover spy and run a brothel. And brothels, unfortunately for him, weren't exactly smiled on in the new government – less so than they had been under the old regime.

Most of his time, he'd been planning. He didn't have any money, didn't have any resources, and didn't have any friends. He was building from the ground up – which he'd never really had to do before, as he'd inherited the Honeybee from someone else, and Shinra had built him the mansion to his requests. After a long and arduous legal argument, he'd been able to access his savings – another occasion that made him thank whatever powers had looked over him occasionally to influence his choice to keep the account in a bank in Junon. It wasn't the most stable city, but – well, it wasn't Midgar.

He'd almost finished construction on the building, which he'd placed on the other side of Kalm from Edge. With luck, and probably a grant from the WRO, he wanted to turn it into a halfway house – a place for runaways, prostitutes, victims of abuse, anyone to seek refuge. It was the complete turn around from what he'd done in the past – and it was the only thing he could think of to do that wouldn't lead him right back into places he didn't need to be anymore.

Truth be told, the plan wasn't foolproof. There was a very strong possibility that he could turn this into another Manor. But he didn't really want to anymore. The world that had used him in that regard was gone. This wasn't his world, his city anymore. And he knew all too well that if you wanted to survive, you had to adapt to your surroundings.

So in time, he would approach...what was his name? He'd approach the leader of the WRO, and he'd pitch his plan. He'd show that he already had the beginnings of a facility, and the ability and willingness to finance much of the rest of the building, if they wanted. He'd written up a resume, such as it was – and then it was in their hands.

Maybe it was too early for New Year's resolutions, but he'd made one anyway.

Something had to change.

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Another short chapter, sorry everyone. A few more visitors to the story; welcome and thank you for the interest! If you like, don't like, anything - please review! The only way I'll know what the rest of you think, and what you'd like to hear more about in the future is if you review. So I hope to hear from you! Only one more day left - whoever could we hear from then?

~R


	12. Twelve Drummers Drumming: Jaren

He was one of the best fighters the company had ever seen.

Since the beginning, he'd helped build up what would become the fighting force of the Shinra Electric Company. He saw the president morph from someone with an honest plan for the betterment of the world into a power-hungry monster hellbent on running his company through bribery and sweet-talk. He came in through the first steps of SOLDIER, and helped to form the first "team" of Turks. He'd lost his fair share of teammates, and gained better friends than he'd deserved. He'd met the woman of his dreams, and had a son with her.

And he'd watched her die as well.

He'd seen his share of blood and death, and even with the births he'd seen he felt like a character in a play he'd once read, seeing the blood of those he'd killed endlessly on his hands, no matter how much he scrubbed. And as he grew stronger, as his team grew better, those he worked for got nervous. He could take over their jobs – and thus, had to be eliminated.

It was the one damn thing he wished he could have drilled into Rexford Heidegger's head: he didn't want the damn job. He was more than content to sit as team leader on the field, and leave the office politics and paperwork to him.

He'd taken his fair share of insane assignments, and ignored his share of orders. (The order to ignore the destruction of Palm Springs was the one he'd never once regretted.) He had tried to save almost as many live as he'd taken – and had probably come close. Contrary to what he was sure Tobias, his second in command, thought, he had in fact kept tabs on the boy from Palm Springs. Some of his choices had been...regrettable, but they weren't Jaren's to make. They were the boy's. And besides, he'd landed his way into the Turks. At least there he'd gained some safety.

Side by side with his son.

The mission he'd left on was the last straw, and Jaren had known it. Heidegger had been trying to get rid of Jaren for at least a year and probably longer by then, and so being sent off on a mission that pitted one Turk against potentially hundreds of renegade soldiers was clearly suicide. He had gone home, arranged his affairs quietly with those that needed to know, told his son the words he'd never spoken – that he was proud of him, and that he loved him – and left.

He wasn't surprised when the rest of the team showed up. He must have terrified Tseng by saying he loved him. Jaren was many things, but a man that was good with emotions he was not. And after Tseng's mother had died...those words simply weren't in his vocabulary. Yet another piece for Toby to pick at him about.

As the battle grew more and more unlikely, Jaren pulled the last card he had up his sleeve and pulled the team together. Once you were in the Turks, you didn't leave; the private Shinra assassins made sure of that. So the only choice they had – aside from dying on the field – was to run, and vanish. It was fairly well assumed that several Turks before had done just that, as a few had been caught later. It was Jaren's final order to the team: run, and run far. Vanish and never come back. Stay away from each other, and from the city.

And they had run. Tobias had initially demanded that the two of them should stick together, but Jaren had refused. Toby hadn't been happy, but he'd obeyed. It was the last he'd ever seen of the man.

To be fair, he was a little surprised. Tobias had never been one for holding up orders that he didn't like, so he'd half expected the brunette to show up on his doorstep the day Shinra fell – and then after that, the day Midgar was destroyed. "You see, Jaren?" he would say. "Now the company and the city are gone. We can come back now, right?"

He knew where Toby was. And he knew that Toby knew where he was. After all, Wutai wasn't that big of a country, and there was nowhere else Jaren could live. And Toby would follow Jaren, whether the former leader liked it or not.

So now, though he'd never been asked, the question did continue to hover over Jaren's head. What did they do now? The city was gone, the company was gone. A child he'd seen come into the system from a distance was now running the world, and doing a damn fine job of it thus far.

And, though it was trite and contrived, it was coming up on Christmas.

What better time to be reunited with family? What better time to round up the old team, see who all had made it out safely, and try and reconnect with the son he'd left behind twenty years ago. He could only imagine what Tseng would think. He'd made sure Shinra had little reason to look for them; bodies had been placed at the scene with identifying markers. He'd seen his grave, as surreal as that had been. Tseng had no reason to think he was still alive.

He found himself in front of a small cemetery outside the high temple, and silently walked the steps he'd taken almost every day since he moved to Wutai. It was one of the easiest ways he could get caught, but he couldn't help it. He tried to at least keep the visits at night.

In front of a beautifully intricate grave, he knelt and traced the name with one scarred finger. _Siani Kana: beloved mother, sister, daughter, wife. May she shine forever in the skies._ "What do you think, Kana?" he whispered.

The question was stupid. This was the girl once called "the Shining Siani", the most talented dancer in Wutai, and one of the freest spirits he'd ever met. She would punch him in the chest, kick him in the shin, and tell him he'd been an idiot since day one for leaving their son behind and it was about time he did something about it. If only he could convince himself that easily.

"I'll find him, Kana. I promise I will. But I need something to come back with, that will make up for the years of silence and absence. I have to do something."

It was hours before it came to him. In Shinra, the rule was such: if you didn't see them die with your own eyes, they weren't always dead.

Maybe he wouldn't find anything by Christmas, but he was going to try.

He left Wutai.

* * *

And that's a wrap! I hope everyone enjoyed the stories; I certainly enjoyed writing them :) And yes, I know I don't make it clear where Jaren's going at the end. That's intentional; I know where he's going and you are meant to guess. XD I hadn't intended to write Jaren here at the end, but he was the only major player of the Palm Springs arc that didn't get something to say. It seemed necessary.

I hope everyone's had a very happy holiday season and that you are having an excellent New Year so far! Let me know what you thought of the stories, which characters you enjoyed best, what you think of the early Turks/Palm Springs plotline, anything like that. I'd love to hear input!

~R


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